


Start With Something Smaller

by abriata



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Airplanes, Anxiety, Literature, M/M, Reading Aloud, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3325754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abriata/pseuds/abriata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>author of book gets seated next to someone reading their book and making entertaining faces at each scene au</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start With Something Smaller

The worst part about becoming a successful author is all the flying. Pete _hates_ flying, and he's not very good at it - worst case, it's panic attacks, but even on his good days, there are deep breathing exercises involved. He used to get away with biannual flights to visit his parents, but recently he's been lucky if he goes three months without flying.

On the other hand, the best part about becoming a successful author is seeing people read his books. Two novels in and a bestseller down, the novelty still hasn't worn off. Pete's honestly hoping it never does.

This is the first time the two have coincided. Pete's looking at a guy in a hat who's frowning down at the cover of Pete's book. The sticker on the front cover is from the airport bookstore, so it's obviously new. The guy's lost in thought, if the way he hasn't noticed Pete looming over him is any indication. Pete would leave him to it, but the guy's bag is in Pete's seat and he'll need to sit eventually.

Pete clears his throat, then, after a beat with no response, says, "Excuse me."

The guy looks up and his eyes widen. Pete waits, but the guy just says, "Oh, sorry!" and fumbles with his bag.

"It's cool," Pete says, sitting down. He kicks his own bag under the seat and rolls his phone between his palms. He doesn't put his headphones in yet, looking back over at the guy instead, who's gone back to frowning at the cover.

At the front of the plane, the door closes with a muted thud. Pete swallows hard and tries to distract himself.

"New book?"

"Huh?" the guy looks at him, then back down at the book quickly. He smiles. "Yeah, it—" he shrugs, and his smile settles into something a little sheepish.

The plane jerks backwards, starting to move. Pete clutches discreetly at the armrests and asks, "Have you started it yet?"

The guy sighs. "Not really. I promised my mother I'd go to her book club tomorrow night, and this is the book they read. I'm maybe fifty pages in? So I've got the flight to read it, because if she picks me up from the airport and I haven't finished, she's going to be disappointed with me."

He cuts off. "Sorry, you don't need to know all this."

The plane is still taxiing. Pete takes a slow breath. "I don't mind. Tell me about your mom's book club. I'm waiting for the anxiety meds to kick in."

The guy looks sympathetic. "Nervous flyer?"

"You could say."

The plane jerks forward then shudders to a stop. The engines hum a little more quietly. Pete relaxes his grip on the seat slightly.

The guy has moved from sympathetic to concerned. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I won't throw up on you," Pete reassures him dryly.

"I've survived worse," the guy says. "But there isn't anything you need?"

"I should be able to sleep when the pills kick in," Pete says. He hesitates, but the guy watches him patiently, mouth in a quizzical half-smile.

"You could distract me," Pete offers. "Tell me about your mom's book club."

The guy laughs. "Well, I don't think it's very interesting, but okay. I'm Patrick, by the way."

"Pete," Pete says, and watches, but there's still no recognition. Pete's never regretted avoiding putting his name on his book covers, but right now he's downright glad. "So tell me about the book. Doesn't seem like you like it so far, the way you were frowning."

The plane starts taxiing again, slowly. Pete wishes it wouldn't – the longer it takes, the more likely it is he'll be asleep before take-off.

"Nice to meet you," Patrick says. "But okay, so you've read it?"

Pete snorts. "A time or two."

Patrick's mouth quirks to the side. "Are you a fan?" he asks cautiously.

"Depends on the day," Pete answers honestly. "He's not my favorite author, though. By far."

Patrick looks back down at the book. "So it is a guy? I mean, I assumed, but I don't know what the P.L.K. stands for."

Pete doesn't mention there's a short bio on the back cover flap. He just makes a noise in agreement.

"I figured it had to be written by a guy. One of the comments on the back says it's semi-autobiographical." Patrick makes a face.

Pete laughs and goes for the obvious. "You don't like the main character."

"I  can't believe anyone could!" Patrick says, and he leans into Pete unconsciously. "He's an asshole."

"For what it's worth, you're not supposed to like him," Pete offers. "Not yet, at least."

Patrick makes the face again. "Right, so it's a redemption story about an angst-ridden teenager. Who doesn't like to read about that?"

Pete laughs again. "I know, believe me."

"I just think it seems a little self-indulgent," Patrick says.

"Oh, it's very self-indulgent," Pete assures him. "Just wait till you get to the end."

"Yay," Patrick says dryly.

"But I think all writing is. Either the author's indulging their desire to be read, or they're indulging their need to express themselves."

"Or they're writing the story they would like to read," Patrick suggests.

"Those are the most selfish stories of all," Pete says.

Patrick grins. "Those are usually my favorite ones."

Pete smiles back. "Of course they are."

His smiles dies a quick death as the plane's engine revs up and it starts accelerating quickly. He'd been hoping for a good half hour of taxiing, but apparently LAX has its shit together for the first and only time in history. It's just Pete's luck.

"So," Patrick says, and Pete jerks his eyes back to him. His expression is gentle. "Why are you going to Chicago?"

Pete appreciates the attempt at distraction, but it doesn't work. "Parents live there," he says tersely.

"Mine, too," Patrick says. His voice is falsely bright. "I moved to LA for work."

"I moved to LA for the people," Pete says. The wheels leave the ground. He breathes out. "I'm not trying to keep you from reading."

"Because I'm so eager to get back to it," Patrick says.

Pete leans his head back. He shuts his eyes and says, "You don't want to disappoint your mother."

There's a quiet grumble, but Pete also hears a rustle of pages and the crack of a book spine. Maybe a minute passes, and Pete's pretty much got his heart rate under control – though whether that's him or the meds is up for debate – when he hears Patrick snort disdainfully.

He opens his eyes and looks over curiously. Patrick is making a hilariously animated face of disgust, until he catches Pete looking at him. Then he blushes.

Pete watches him, fascinated.

"Sorry," Patrick mutters.

"What inspired that reaction?"

"This girl, okay," Patrick says. "This is so obviously a selfish jerk's perception of some poor girl. He makes everything about himself."

"From what I remember, he did that with everything," Pete says.

"No, listen," Patrick says, and slides his thumb up the page. " _She had the bleached, neon-dyed hair characteristic of all girls like her. She never kept to one color, or if she did, it was never the color she was born with: that color was boring, ugly, identical to her father's. So she put chemicals in her hair to make up for the ones she wouldn't put in her body, and he liked to press his face to her neck and breathe in the smell of artificial individuality._

 _"He told her once, when she teased him for liking her throat, and she slapped him for his honesty_.

Patrick's voice changed _._

"' _You're an asshole,' she told him, 'and a hypocrite, and I am done with you,' and she dumped him. And they had sex right there in the hall outside her daddy's study._ "

He looks back over at Pete. "That is just _gross_ , there are so many–what?"

"They should get you to do the audiobook," Pete says. He's actually pretty sure there's already an audiobook, but he doesn't _care_ , they can record another one.

"Shut up," Patrick says, ducking his head in embarrassment. "I was just—"

"I'm serious," Pete persists. "That was better than the way I've always heard it in my head. You did _voices_."

Patrick huffs, face still red. "As I was saying," he starts pointedly, and Pete lets it go. "This is gross. It's all, this girl is shallow and fake and has daddy issues, and he likes that about her, but he demeans her for it? And of course being awful to insecure teenage girls is how you get to have sex with them. _And_ she's three years younger than him!"

Apparently realizing how loud he'd gotten, Patrick ducks his head again, subsiding. He continues more quietly. "She was right about him, anyway. At least he doesn't describe this sex scene in detail like the first one. I can't believe my mom liked this book."

Pete wants to defend his book—defend himself. _He wasn't demeaning her, he thought it was poetic_ or _her daddy issues were one of the things he could relate to_ or _she was the one who wanted sex_ or even _he knew it was wrong that's why he did it_.

But more than he wants to defend himself, he wants to know what Patrick will think of the rest of the book. Pete's never gotten an opportunity like this before. So he just nods at Patrick and says, "It doesn't look like I'll be sleeping, so if you want to mock any other sections, feel free."

Patrick looks unconvinced, so Pete plays the sympathy card and tries to look as pathetic and airsick as he can. Patrick's expression smoothes into – yes! – sympathetic, and he nods. Pete gives himself an imaginary high five. Untempered feedback _and_ more story time.

Patrick goes back to reading and Pete shuts his eyes again, but he leaves his head turned toward Patrick. After a few minutes, Pete slits his eyes open to take stock. Patrick's looking pretty blank. He's on one of the passages about skipping school, something which doesn't seem to offend him.

The flight attendants come by with drinks and snacks, and when they've gone past, Patrick crows, "She's dumping him! Finally!"

Pete tries to suppress it, but he ends up grinning. "You're so vindictive," he says.

Patrick shrugs unapologetically, though his face has gone a little red again. "He deserves it."

"He does," Pete agrees easily.

"I feel like he's going to commit property damage now," Patrick says, and Pete raises his eyebrows but doesn't say anything.

Two pages later, Patrick says, "Oh, yep, would you look at that."

Pete says, "I don't think you get any points for predicting that."

Patrick looks sideways at him. "I get points for this?"

"I'll give you my peanuts if you correctly predict, let's say, two of the three major plot twists," Pete says seriously.

"With terms like that, how could I refuse?" Patrick says. "Do I guess now?"

Pete nods. What the hell.

"And how many guesses do I get?"

Pete gives the question careful consideration. "Just two. And I won't tell you whether you're right."

"I've got to read to find out, huh?" Patrick says. "Well, first I'll put suicide attempt on the table."

Pete smothers a wince.

"That's practically a given, maybe that shouldn't count." Patrick looks at Pete expectantly, but Pete holds his gaze evenly. "And he starts writing a book at the end. Or turns all his journals into one," Patrick adds musingly. "Same thing."

"Are those your two guesses?" Pete asks.

"I'll go for three," Patrick says. "Sexuality crisis."

Pete almost laughs again. "Ambitious, aren't you?"

"Confident in my grasp of the literary conventions of this genre, more like," Patrick says.

Pete considers asking him what genre he thinks that is, but restrains himself. He's trying not to appear over-invested, after all.

Leaving Patrick to it, Pete unwraps his headphones from around his phone and shoves them in his pocket. He flips through the apps on his phone, but there's only so much you can do without internet. He'd been planning on trying to get some writing done if he couldn't sleep, but that's obviously not on the table anymore. He eventually settles down to go through emails, but he's just started reading the shit his editor spams him with – Andy _says_ he believes all the how-to and "inspirational" articles he sends Pete are to help him, but Pete knows Andy just likes pissing him off – when Patrick laughs again.

But when Pete looks this time, it doesn't seem to be mocking.

"Okay," Patrick admits, "I like some of his friends."

Pete smiles in agreement. "He has some pretty great friends."

It's the first suggestion of genuine enjoyment. Pete goes back to his emails feeling pretty pleased with himself.

There's a couple that require responses, and Pete doesn't have anything better to do. When he finishes, saving the last one for sending when he's on the ground again, he realizes Patrick's been silent for more than half an hour. When he looks over, Patrick is unhealthily bent over and he's chewing on the corner of his mouth. He's completely absorbed and doesn't even notice Pete putting away his phone and shifting to watch him more comfortably. Pete should leave him to it.

"How's it going?" Pete asks.

Patrick blinks a couple of times as he looks up. "Huh? Oh, it's okay."

Pete raises his eyebrows and waits.

"I mean, I still hate it," Patrick assures him.

"Of course," Pete says, with the appropriate level of sincerity.

Patrick looks suspicious.

"What part are you on?" Pete asks.

"He's just started thinking to himself about how he feels like he's grown because he hasn't cheated on girlfriend number two yet," Patrick says. "So I imagine I'm coming on a cheating scene."

Pete bites back a smile. "You know what you should do?" he asks hopefully.

"What?" Patrick asks, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, too.

"You should read aloud."

Patrick frowns, forehead wrinkling. "Why?" he asks, bemused.

"Because I'm a nervous flyer," Pete says, and tries to look pathetic again.

Patrick narrows his eyes at Pete for a few seconds, and Pete wonders if he'll be called on it, but Patrick just asks, "You really want me to—" he bites his lip for a split second, makes a face in the middle, "– _read_ to you?"

"Yes," Pete says fervently, then reigns himself in a bit and adds, "Why not? Please."

Patrick shakes his head, looking outright confused and more than a little embarrassed, but he opens the book and begins to read.

He modulates his voice well, staying the same soothing volume as he raises and lowers pitch for voices and moods. After a minute or two, when Patrick has stopped glancing up to check on him, Pete closes his eyes to listen. He'd be tempted to fall asleep, the drugs pulling at his brain, if he weren't waiting for—

_"—across the club, where he'd expected, like always. Without her, there wasn't a reason not to, and she'd been an unconvincing reason in the first place. The press of bodies around him was—"_

Patrick stops abruptly. There it is. Pete opens his eyes.

"Is this going to be the cheating sex scene? Already?" Patrick flips a few pages forward. "This is the sex scene."

"Hm," Pete agrees.

"And," Patrick says, slightly wide-eyed, skimming down the page, "this doesn't look so much like a crisis of sexuality."

"Not so much," Pete agrees.

"Really just sex," Patrick says. "Despite all the other crises, real and imagined."

"Really just," Pete agrees.

"Quit," Patrick says absently.

Pete, agreeably, goes quiet.

Patrick flips back to the page he was on, then slides a look at Pete. Pete stares at him.

Patrick's forehead wrinkles again. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You stopped reading," Pete says.

"I am not reading a sex scene out loud on a plane," Patrick informs him levelly, and tucks the book closer to his face and proceeds to read it privately.

Pete can't help it: he cackles.

"What?" Patrick demands, not lowering the book. It's blocking most of his face, and he turns a little sideways so Pete can't see him at all.

"I figured you'd skip it completely," Pete says.

"It's just sex," Patrick says, but he hushes the last word into a hiss, and then he determinedly ignores Pete laughing again.

It takes _forever_ for Patrick to finish the sex scene. Pete's torn between enjoyment, knowing Patrick's paying careful attention to every line of the gay sex, and abject mortification, similar to the way he felt when he first realized his siblings and dad and _mom_ had been faced with pseudo-retellings of his sex life upon reading his books.

He could've stopped including sex, but that was an idea very shortly entertained. Pete enjoys being tawdry.

"You know what," Patrick says, pulling the book away from his face.

"Finish the sex scene?" Pete asks conversationally.

Patrick looks haughty and ignores him. "What are your plans while you're in Chicago?"

Pete fails to bite down his hopefulness. "Nothing much, why?" he asks, deliberately casual.

"I have an idea," Patrick says. "I'll give you the address, and you can go to the book club in my place."

"You don't think your mother will notice?" Pete asks.

"We'll have round one hundred of the argument about how I don't have to be interested in every book they read that has a gay protagonist," Patrick says. "I'll piss her off so much she'll be happy for the substitution."

"Well, I'm not going without you," Pete says.

Patrick's sardonic smile falters at Pete's response. He blinks. "What, really?"

"Sure, why not?" Pete says. "Give me the address."

Patrick blinks again, but then he agrees. He tears a blank page from the back of the book and takes the pen Pete fishes out from the side pocket of his bag, scribbling down the address. His handwriting is atrocious; Pete loves it.

He hands Pete his pen back and then the folded page, and says, "I have no idea why you'd want to, but cool."

Pete squirms to stuff the paper in his pocket. He can't tell what this is from Patrick's easy behavior, but he knows he's going either way.

"Tomorrow night?" he asks.

"At eight," Patrick confirms.

Pete waits, then asks, "Well?" and gestures at the book when Patrick looks confused.

"Really?" Patrick asks.

When Pete opens his mouth – to defend himself, or to convince Patrick, he may not decide until he starts talking – he yawns instead. It's one of the huge jaw-cracking ones that goes on forever, the ones caused by medicine and that he can't control at all.

Patrick's face has softened when Pete manages to look at him again, having regained the powers of speech.

"Okay," Patrick agrees easily.

And he starts again, just like that. Reading doesn't stop him from commenting—

"So it may not have been a sexuality crisis," is the first thing he says, a while later, "but maybe it should've been. I don't think your semi-closeted hook-ups are supposed to be healthier than your actual relationships."

Pete smirks but doesn't have anything constructive to add; he doesn't even open his eyes. Patrick doesn't seem to mind, picking right back up where he left off the narrative.

And then when girlfriend number two finds out about the cheating, he says, "Oh my god," and when Pete slits an eye open to check, he's wide-eyed.

"I'm pretty sure she was exaggerated for the purposes of literature," Pete says, aiming for reassuring. He'd know. Even he wouldn't have dated a girl who would set his car on fire. That's just melodramatic.

Patrick captures the hysteria in her voice without going shrill or grating or too loud for the plane. Pete listens and can't even hear her real voice underneath, though he knows what it actually sounded like.

He is completely serious about who'll be recording all his audiobooks from now on. And not because Patrick seems almost criminally nice – Pete is torn between being lulled off by the reading almost immediately and fighting to stay awake despite the drugs just so he can hear more of it. When he does fall asleep, he doesn't really notice.

He doesn't notice waking up either, except that he tries to move his head so his neck will be more comfortable and he ends up flopping a little to the side and hitting something that doesn't have the texture and smell of cheap polyester seat fabric.

"You awake?" Patrick asks.

"Fuck," Pete mumbles, eloquent.

"The flight's not over yet," Patrick says, apologetic.

Pete makes a noncommittal noise. He's not sure anymore that he wants to sleep through the whole flight.

He drags himself upright from where he'd flopped into Patrick's shoulder. "How long?" he asks.

Patrick, to his credit, doesn't ask whether Pete means how long until the flight is over or how long Pete slept. He answers both possible questions. "You were asleep for about two hours, I think? I didn't notice for sure when you fell asleep. And we have about half an hour until we land."

"Fuck," Pete says again, more heartfelt. He would've guessed he'd been asleep for maybe half an hour. Weird dreams and uncomfortable posture taken into account, he hadn't thought he'd slept that deeply. He looks at Patrick's place in the book and has to acknowledge Patrick must be right – he's not too far from the end now.

Pete considers being annoyed he missed so much of the book, but he can't remember the last time he felt so relaxed on a plane, even medicated, and he has to attribute that to the semi-natural nap and, by association, Patrick.

Patrick is still looking at him curiously.

"Sorry if I drooled on you," Pete says, dismissive – he doesn't think he did, and even if he had, he wouldn't be that sorry. In the grand scheme of things, sleeping on someone's shoulder isn't that big a deal.

"No," Patrick says—

And then he lifts the book up and resumes reading aloud with any prompting at all.

Pete grins delightedly at the side of his face. Patrick doesn't notice.

The flight attendants come around one last time while Patrick's still reading. He doesn't stop, just waves a hand at the woman who asks if he has any trash, and Pete mouths an apology for him, amused. Patrick's reading fast and low, caught up in the book or in a hurry to finish before the plane lands. Pete can't tell for sure.

Patrick's quiet reading trails off into a mumbled sentence and then silence. Pete wants to nudge him, but he seems to be reading as quickly as he can. He's hunching further and further over the book. Pete knows what part he's gotten to.

Pete really did owe Patrick his peanuts. There is a suicide attempt – or was, depending on your perspective. Pete hates discussing that part of his book, even though, yes, it's the pivotal moment. He's glad Patrick stopped reading aloud – he's not sure he could handle having it read back to him, however much he may like the reader.

He's also not sure how he would've handled it if Patrick reacted with the same scorn with which he'd mentioned the idea earlier, but that's not a problem: Patrick's completely focused on the book, eyes flicking back and forth, unblinking. He's biting his lip a little his fingers are gripping the book so tightly the knuckles are white.

Pete can tell when he's gotten through the scene, because he breathes out a sigh, apparently unconsciously. Pete feels prickling warmth up his spine, and can't tell whether it's shame or pleasure or a screwed-up mixture of both.

Patrick jerks his head up to glare at Pete. "If he'd died," he mutters, "I would've sent the author hate mail."

Pete doesn't even try to hold back his smile. He wants to _hug_ Patrick or something.

The captain announces they'll be landing soon, and Pete has to start paying attention to his breathing again. Patrick is fidgeting in his seat as he hurries to finish the book, but it's not enough to distract Pete. He forces himself not to hold his breath and shuts his eyes.

When the plane bumps down gently, he feels himself unwind a bit. Despite being safely on the ground, he won't relax completely until he's off the plane – or out of the airport, really. He _hates_ flying. As the plane pulls up to the gate, and he shakes himself a little, Pete hears a sniff.

He looks over. Patrick's eyes are teary.

Patrick notices his movement and looks back at him, shame-faced. "Don't say anything," he says, and snuffles warningly.

Pete shakes his head solemnly.

People start to shuffle down the aisle, disembarking. As much as Pete hates planes, he's not getting up until Patrick does. And Patrick still has a few pages left.

Killing time, Pete pulls out his phone and sends his emails, then clears out his messages and then rewraps his headphones. He pulls his bag slowly out from beneath the seat, careful not to disturb Patrick.

Patrick sniffs a couple times more but finishes the book with a minimum of fuss. He snaps it closed and then shoves it, without looking, at Pete, who grabs at it reflexively. He pulls his own bag out and then mutters, "Come on," keeping his face ducked away from Pete's sight, "before they kick us off the plane."

He takes the book back from Pete but doesn't put it in his bag, keeping it cradled in his arm instead. Pete heads up the aisle, Patrick on his heels, thinking.

As soon as they're in the terminal proper, he turns and blurts, "But it's a happy ending!"

"Shut up," Patrick says, scowling. "I just wasn't expecting it."

Pete feels his face stretch into a smile. He bounces a little on his toes. "So those were happy tears."

"I said shut _up_ ," Patrick huffs, turning on his heel and heading toward the exit. "Leave me alone, go away. You knew what would happen."

Pete knows people liked the ending, and he's been told about some of the more dramatic reactions, but he's never _seen_ someone react that strongly. Usually there's just some smiling, maybe a little bit of happy wiggling.

He stays quiet all the way to luggage claim, but he doesn't stop smiling to himself.

As they wait for their bags, Patrick finally breaks. "I don't know _why_ ," he bursts out with, sounding exasperated with himself and more than a little bemused. "It was predictable. I predicted it! I mean, I wouldn't have predicted a happy ending, so obviously that's something, but—"

Pete laughs, and Patrick swats at him lazily, without looking. Having started, he continues on a tangent, asking Pete in a hypothetical sort of way what he thinks about the role of predictability and surprise in determining a book's quality – which is a topic Pete could argue about for hours, but not without revealing his literary snobbery, and that's something he tries to keep hidden until at least the second date.

Patrick keeps monologuing through the arrival of both their bags, and then they're stepping out into the biting wind. Patrick's face goes pink immediately, which is adorable, and Pete's nose starts running almost immediately, which is less adorable.

"But yeah," Patrick says musingly, back on track and winding his way to a conclusion. "I think it's part genre conventions, but mostly it's the fact he's so dislikable but then he's so sad when he figures that out, and it's kind of pathetic? But by that point you've been tricked into liking him anyway, or at least sympathizing with him, so you just feel like shit too – which I guess means it probably does qualify as good writing, isn't that appalling – and there's nothing you can do, or I mean, nothing you _could_ do, even if you were in the book, so you also feel sympathetic when none of the other characters can help. But I guess that's the trick – you feel so fucking bad that when it's _not_ bad anymore, you're happy _and_ you're relieved _and_ you're surprised because there wasn't some typical depressing or noncommittal ending, and it all just kind of is—"

Patrick stops. He looks at Pete.

"Great," he finishes, inadequately. He looks puzzled. "I really just want to hug him now," he tells Pete, confused and a little helpless.

Every ounce of Pete's restraint has been exhausted. He hitches his bag further over his shoulder and he steps forward and he _does_ hug Patrick.

After a split second where he stands stock-still, Patrick drops his bag and hugs Pete back. He laughs a little self-consciously into Pete's shoulder and says, "And I can't believe you just let me talk that much."

Pete lets go reluctantly when Patrick steps back. "I really don't mind," he says. "You have no idea."

"Okay," Patrick says, smiling at Pete.

"So," Pete says. "Where are you going from here?"

"Oh," Patrick says, looking around like he's just realized where they are. "My mother will be picking me up. I was supposed to text her."

He picks his bag back up, digging his phone out of his pocket and thrusting the book at Pete to hold again while he texts. When he's finished and has taken the book back, he says, "She'll be late," long-sufferingly. "She's always late."

"Sucks," Pete says sympathetically. "I'm getting a cab."

"Yeah," Patrick says.

"Which is right over there," Pete says. "So."

"Oh," Patrick says. "Right."

Pete walks slowly toward the cab stand, and Patrick follows along beside him.

"We should hang out sometime," Patrick says abruptly, fumbling.

"I'm coming to your mom's book club," Pete says, amused. "Tomorrow."

"Right," Patrick says, looking startled.

Pete suspects Patrick doesn't really expect him to show. Pete is going to prove him so, so wrong.

He stops at the side of the first empty cab and turns to face Patrick. "But yeah, we will."

They stare at each other until the cab driver rolls down the passenger side window and demands to know if they're coming.

Pete sighs and says, "So give me your phone, I'll put my number in it."

Patrick breaks into a smile. "Okay."

Pete adds himself in under _Pete Wentz_. He hands it back to Patrick and says, "You should text me. We can meet up in LA sometime."

"Sure," Patrick says, still smiling, then looks down at the phone.

Pete opens the door and throws his bag into the back seat of the cab. He watches as Patrick's face morphs into a frown.

"Is this a joke?" Patrick asks, confused.

"Nope," Pete says cheerfully, and slides in. He shuts the door and waves at Patrick through the window.

Patrick, alarmed, looks from his phone back to Pete, and then down at the book, confirming the name matches. He fumbles with it, turning it over to look at the back cover and then he opening it to check the front and then the back flap.

Pete knows when he notices the black-and-white author's photo: he freezes, eyes going impossibly wider.

When Patrick jerks his head up to stare at Pete, looking hilariously horrified, Pete waves again before his cab pulls out to join the rest of the traffic.

Pete's curious whether Patrick will work up the courage to text him, and if he'll be angry or embarrassed or something else entirely when he does. If he doesn't text, well – Pete slides his hand into his pocket, making sure he still has the paper with Patrick's address. Then he settles happily back into his seat and considers what he knows about book clubs.


End file.
